


Apocalypse Song

by eggmeme



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, don't look at me i'm just a dumbass, drug cw, i tried (and failed but we don't talk about that part), idk but i'm a shit writer so u probably won't feel anything, it's not happy ok, this was such a great and unoriginal idea
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-19
Updated: 2014-06-19
Packaged: 2018-02-05 06:51:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1809286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eggmeme/pseuds/eggmeme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is no time for confessing, not when he's playing his own execution waltz</p>
            </blockquote>





	Apocalypse Song

_{I wish I had a gentle mind  
And a spine made up of iron}_

~

The wedding guests smile and clap expectantly. They look at the man on the platform.  
Sherlock looks at his violin, unfolds his sheet music, and plays it.

~

A waltz is a light piece of music. It's supposed to be cheerful. It's supposed to resemble sunlight streaming in through windows.   
The way it's being played right now?   
It reminds him of a funeral dirge. 

~

Sherlock looks at the disgustingly smug smiles on John and Mary's faces. He wants to snap their disgustingly smug necks.   
Goddammit, John, he thinks. I told you were  _the most important_ thing in my life, I came back from the  _dead_ for you.   
And yet you still choose her. 

~

  
He wants to stop playing and fall into John’s arms.  
but-  
the words and motions don't come. Anyway, saying anything right now would be a horrible move. If he did, he'd ruin the entire wedding. John wouldn't talk to him ever again. 

~

There is no time for confessing, not even when he's playing his own execution waltz.

 

~

He thinks he's going to explode, he's so angry/jealous/heartbroken.  
He’s thinks he's going to sink into the earth and crack wide open and his sticky insides are going to spill out and burn through the floor and-  
and he's going to die right now.  
The poison that's slithering through his veins (John don't leave me John don't leave me)  is going to crawl into his throat and strangle him.  
Sherlock scowls at the newlyweds. They have their arms on each other's waists.   
John catches Mary as she falls. She looks into his eyes with a soft smile.   
"Thank you," she mouths.   
He grits his teeth. It's sickening, yet he can't seem to tear his eyes away.   
He watches the two as the poison in his throat turns into thick vines and clogs his windpipe.   
What else could the lump be? He's Sherlock Holmes, he doesn't cry.

~  
  
_{Mouth connects to the teeth_  
_And teeth to the loves and curses}_

  
~

  
He leaves the wedding early.  
Breaks down in an alleyway, watches as tears splash on dirty brick.

  
~

 _{Honey can you reach the spot_  
_That needs oiling and fixing?}_

~

John is enjoying his new life with Mary.  
This is a fact Sherlock can read in the creases of his pants and slight bulge of his belly. He’s taken up cycling, Sherlock notices. Hah.  
Running around London kept the fat off much better, he should move in again.  
He can't help but remember that after the wedding, John has stopped by  _once_.   
He stayed just long enough to pour a cup of tea.

~

"Sherlock?"  
"Yes."  
"He'll still be your friend, you know." She says this tentatively, as if she is afraid of Sherlock's response. "You'll still be able to take cases."   
"Yes."  
"We need to get along. He won't like it if we hate each other."  
"Yes."   
"Do-do you love him?"   
Sherlock doesn't deign to respond. The answer is far too obvious. 

~

  
Who needs people, anyway? Sherlock thinks.  
He draws the syringe back. It fills up with whitish liquid and he pushes it into his veins, sighing in relief.  
He doesn’t need people. People let you get overly attached and then break your heart by leaving.  
The violin, the syringe, the skull- at least they stay. 

  
~

“He’s bad, John. Ever since-“  
“I’m busy, Greg.”  
“John. I’m serious. He-“  
“Mary’s pregnant.”  
“He’s your _best friend_ , for God’s sake, John, he needs you. Go visit him, yeah?”  
“Soon.”  
“Goddammit. God damn it. The bastard _needs_ you, John. He’s not in good shape. Doesn’t talk in crime scenes, isn’t an arrogant tosser.”  
“And that's a bad thing.”  
“Yeah, ‘course it is. He hasn’t been acting like himself. Donovan and Anderson-“  
“You know what, Lestrade? Fine. Fine. I’ll go.”

~

_{So I pretend there aren't ten strings  
Tied to all ten of my fingers}_

~

“Sherlock Holmes, you _bloody_ bastard. “  
“Ah, John. You’re here again.”  
Sherlock sees him through half-lidded eyes. The entire world looks all smeary and stained and he’s not sure if that’s because it actually is like that or because of the drugs. The latter, he guesses.  
“One word, Sherlock, one _bloody_ word. That’s all I needed.”  
John comes over and sits next to him on the couch.  
“Don’t ever do that again. Understand?”  
Sherlock falls asleep on John’s lap.

 

~

His hair is beginning to gray.   
It's just a few strands at the edges, colored dirty white.   
They make him look  _distinguished,_ according to Mrs. Hudson. (He snorts at that)  
They make him look-  
They make him look  _normal._

~

 _{If you want we could go somewhere else}_  
  
~

Snow covers his vision. It’s white and thick and cold, _too cold_.  
He can’t see anymore.  
He hides behind the ice-encrusted branches of a weeping willow. He thinks, this is what it feels like to not exist.  
Here is a well-kept secret. Here no one will find him and here he can  
finally  
finally  
_sleep._

~

 _{H-E-L-P_ _H-E-L-P_  
_Help me, help me}_

~

“John.”  
“What, Greg. I’m busy.”  
“He- isn’t.”  
“Who isn’t what?”  
“ _He_ isn’t. Alive.  
"Who are you talking about?"  
Lestrade hangs up. 

 

///

 

John calls again.   
"Greg? Who died?"

 

**Author's Note:**

> tbh idk what this is either at one point it was actually ~decent~ but then  
> boom  
> it turned into the pile of shit u see  
> anyway the title is from the apocalypse song by st. vincent (go listen to all of he songs right now) and the stuff in curly braces is from marrow also by st. vincent  
> k bye have fun


End file.
